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1 mo ago
Why ya'll talking about RPatt's career and not mentioning his role as Cedric Diggory smh.
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Every form of media feels so bleak... It's a sad day to be a woman in a misogynistic America. It's a sad day to be a schoolchild in a gun-happy America. It's a sad day to be a human on a dying planet.
2 mos ago
"...when we met in that ghost town... how it felt to be held & never let down. My lifeless touch was just the touch you were waiting for. My evil ways were always there, just couldn't see before." GT
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2 mos ago
Two posts on a hump day work night. Who IS she???
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Possible interest in a voodoo warlock

Time: 9:40
Location: The Grand Hall
Interactions: Ambrosia @Hoekage & Seraphina @Legion02

Béatrix observed the King’s speech with mild curiosity. Cold, porcelain white fingers gripped a steaming mug, which did little to thaw the frost within them. The vampiress sat with a posture echoing the noble upbringing of her human years, poise fit for a woman who was raised to attend events with kings and princes. Wouldn’t her mother and father be proud to see her now, attending such an event. The frenchwoman chuckled to herself. Hardly, they would roll in their graves to see the feminist undead head hunter that their perfect, subservient little girl had become.

She was subservient once, and it left a bad taste in her mouth. Bowing before authority, bowing before men on the basis of patriarchy alone just wasn’t in her blood. As such, her listening to the King’s speech was nothing more than the previously stated mild curiosity. She had no doubt that she was among the eldest of the vampires on this floating rock, and had at least double their body count under her belt. No one truly ruled over her, but perhaps what he had to say would provide some entertainment in the tedious monotony of eternity.

In the moments after Dmitri Tepes finished his speech, the detective death dealer did what she does best. Observe them, gauge their reactions, read the surface thoughts of the minds of the vampires weaker than she. This was entertaining, indeed. Her cool blue eyes went first to the young prince, who looked as though his father had just publicly gutted him. Then to the radiant princess, who attempted to discreetly remind the boy of his role to play. The other Tepes family members hardly reacted at all, no doubt they knew of these plans beforehand. Some of the more independent vampires appeared to be reacting positively to this turn of events. This was their shot at glory, after all.

Une tête couronnée ne trouve pas de repos.

This was nothing more than a game that Dmitri was playing. There was no real power to be gained here, a cocksure ruler such as himself, so young in his reign, would never relinquish any of his control. Disgusting, but unsurprising at the same time. She was not sure of Dmitri’s age, but once vampires reached a couple of centuries, they often grew… bored. And where would Dmitri’s boredom leave the city of New York? Decimated, like so many other historical towns in the aftermath of bored, old vampires playing their games?

To put it lightly, Trixy was annoyed. Not fearful, no, never. While she is firmly aligned with the Artois family, she is not of their bloodline. She has her own wealth, accrued over main centuries of bloodshed, and she has a job and a place to live and her many global connections. She had been playing this “game” for years. No, Trixy was annoyed because this would make her job — both of her jobs — much more difficult. How could she protect all of the Artois children when they were scattered in different homes? This game put the young visionaries especially at risk to their more battle-hardened, aged counterparts. Secondly, this little royal amusement would wreak havoc on humanity. This was going to cause chaos. There would be increased murders, crimes, and rogue vampires running around after failed Turnings. The head detective of NYPD’s supernatural crimes division was about to get a whole lot busier — she might even have to take day shifts.

T'es rien qu'un connard Tepes.

As if on cue, her work phone buzzed with an incoming text regarding a situation that had occurred at Central Park last night. Fantastic, so it begins. Trixy scanned the contents of the message and tucked the phone back away. The detectives on duty could handle the clean up and questioning, informing her was merely courtesy. Focusing back on the action in the room, the frenchwoman’s eyes fell upon the leader of her found family. She could not be sure if Ambrosia had any part or say in the decision that Dmitri made, but Béatrix would give her assurance just the same.

The ebony haired femme fatale stood up and gracefully made her way to the blonde artist. Placing a gentle hand on Ambrosia’s shoulder, she spoke quietly in french. “My protection of you and your family is not a luxury of your birth. I was never bought, it is a choice that I make gladly every day. I promise to do everything in my means to ensure the safety of your children during these… times of trial.” She said with a genuine smile that was surprisingly warm in comparison to the ice queen’s usual expressions.

Béatrix took her leave having said all that she had meant to. Her intentions were clear and unwavering. Now that all of the pomp and circumstance had concluded, she wished to retire in her room until sunset. As she passed by the table to retrieve her emptied mug, the most unexpected thing happened. A large black bird flew down from the rafters and fetched a letter from one of the female vampires in the room. Trixy didn’t recognize her. Some independent, young, unimportant vampire (unless she started stirring up trouble). But… sending ravens like that… that was an old practice, one that not many vampires did these days. So, who was she?

The raven then took flight for what Trixy assumed would be the nearest open window. Probably off to tell tale of the news that had just been announced. Instead of following that prediction, the large corvid flapped its wings in Trixy’s direction, deftly dropping the parchment in its talons on the table beside her place setting. Trixy squinted down at the letter curiously as the bird made its way back up to the rafters. The seal on the back looked familiar in a way that she couldn’t quite place. She’d seen it somewhere, stamped on some document or another… but… where? And when?

Trixy retrieved the parcel and flipped it over, as if she had to confirm that it was truly for her. It was addressed in elegant, decorative script. The ink was a shimmering gold color, but one word in particular sounded off red alerts in her mind. Mrs. Béatrix de la Croix. No one in this city knew that she had once been married. And no one would consider her married still. The vaguely familiar seal, the strange newcomer, the trick with the ravens, and the knowledge of her marriage... Who was this girl, and who did she think she was? Without opening the letter, Béatrix raised her icy gaze to the dark-haired woman with centuries worth of scrutinizing suspicion in her eyes.

𝓣𝐢𝐦𝐞 Around 9:40 𝒜ℳ
𝓛𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 The Grand Hall at the Island
𝓘𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 All vampires

With a thin paper cigarette between his lips — lips that were made for kissing — Emiliano Esposito strode to the left of Niklaus Tepes, while Octavius Zeno took to the right. A friend of young royals, it seemed. Any other day, his shirt would be pressed and tucked in. Any other day, his hair would be slicked and combed. Any other day, he wouldn’t look like walking death.

Today was not that day.

While his eyes were a well of jet black ink, showing little to no soul, his token jester smirk never faded. Last night was eventful in the sense that, yes, he did have a good fuck, but boring because — no one died. At least not on the island. It was unfortunate that the only real thing that brought him pleasure nowadays was violence and blood. Without it, what was the point of living such a long, tedious life? He hadn’t even hit one hundred and fifty yet, and here he was: bored out of his mind and giving zero fucks.

A small trail of smoke slithered out from the corner of his mouth as it coiled its way to the wood ceiling. He recalled a conversation with his father the day prior, before he got intoxicated with some random vampiress, whose name he purposely chose to forget. A conversation that led to a manila envelope filled with his new assignments being turned into ash in the music room fireplace. Jobs that surrounded a few faces that he needed to investigate. For the family, but truly? For the Mob. Always remember, burn after reading. That was neither here nor there. He was famished and he could imagine his friends were too. With a side glance, he silently observed their expressions, as they continued onward to the meeting hall.

At the center of the trio stood the youngest Tepes royal, looking much more like the prince of drunken regrets than one of a vampiric legacy. The gods only knew why his father had gathered them all on this island, might as well enjoy it before shit got boring. Or weird. Probably a little bit of both, knowing daddio’s crusty-ass traditions. While he might look like he just rolled out of bed from a one night stand, the clothes he wore were designer and cut slim in all the right places. If you asked him, the wrinkles and slightly dishevelled appearance added a certain amount of mysterious sex appeal.

His nose twitched at the scent of smoke as Niko turned his mismatched gaze to his left. “Filthy habit…” He said judgmentally, clearly feeling a bit grumpy from his hangover. “Makes you smell like ass, bro.” After adding insult to injury, he turned his eyes to Tavi and smirked. “Any bets on why my kingly father has gathered every vampire and their mother here?” Bets were a common theme among the three, as they were all gambling men. What better way to pass the endless time than to feign taking risks?

The oldest of the Trio of Perpetual Regrets could only supply a boyish smirk as he glanced over to the bitching prince on his left. A chuckle left Octavius’ lips as he slung a lazy arm over Niko’s shoulder, “Lighten up, pretty boy, it’s not our fault you can’t hold your liquor.” The tease was light and aimed at his obvious sour mood as a fat cheek was pinched and Tavi was dancing away to dodge any rich boy limbs thrown his way.

With stretched arms overhead, the disheveled designer shirt from last night lifted over the waistband of his equally wrinkled, and expensive, jeans. The party last night was everything the gluttons for all things sinful could have ever hoped for, that much was evident in the way all three of them trudged down the hallways in all their ‘hot-mess’ glory. The French doors to the dining room were before them, and Octavius found himself already searching through the glass panes for the princess he had snuck away with in the close of the wild night. Instead his green eyes found the unamused face of the missing part of the Tepes family disappointment duo.

“My bet is on our favorite little Princess knowing something.”

“That’s gay, dude. That bitch always knows something.” Milo scoffed at the vague, open-ended ‘guess’. Tavi, my man, you can do better. Blowing smoke enthusiastically, and on purpose, in front of Niko, just so he would walk right into it, the Italian Dog shrugged, “Watch. It’ll be something with becoming more cordial with humans, since, y’know, they’re our greatest resource.”

With a deadpan glare, he reached for the knobs to open the door for the princes (or well, throw it open), “How much you want to bet we’ll have to educate them and make them ‘less afraid’?” The most recent years Dmitri Tepes, also known as ‘The King’, and his council had revised the treaty, so it wasn’t unlikely that this meeting focused on the weaker race.

“Nah…” Niklaus dismissed the notion whilst shaking his head. He continued as Milo dramatically flew upon the doors. “He’d never want that.” Niko confirmed under his breath, as a subject matter expert on things that Dmitri Tepes did not want. Speaking of which, if looks could kill, Niko would have a spear between his eyes from his father’s disappointed gaze. Ah yes, just another day in paradise, disappointing daddy… business as usual. Klaus proudly made his way to the seat reserved for him beside the rest of his timely family and kissed his gorgeous looking sister on her cheek before sitting down.

The King’s eyes weren’t the only ones that settled on the rebel prince and his band of merry men. The whole damn room was watching the spectacle, and all of the combined centuries and millennia worth of vampiric judgement sitting around the table weighed down on the boys. Among these elders was a french ebony-haired femme fatale. Béatrix de la Croix sipped at a steaming mug of blood-spiked coffee — it’s the only way she could stomach the human beverage — her icy gaze watching Niklaus. It was bad enough that his insensitive father decided to have this particular meetup long after the sun had risen, but of course the prodigal son had to show up tardy as well. No consideration for the Turned, even if they could be twice the age and thrice the wisdom of Purebloods. The heavens only know why she was called here in the first place, surely Dmitri would move on now that the delinquents had arrived.

While the ice queen assessed the trios’ etiquette, beside her with crossed legs, a slim fit floral blazer jacket, that had a crisp pattern as well as the finest premium, polyester-cotton, Sebastian Tepes, one of two brothers to Dmitri, scrutinized their presentation and mien. Intentionally, he lifted his shades to look them up and down. Their physiques. Their walk. Their attire.

For those who did know Sebastian, he was the Madonna of the vampire world. He did what he wanted, he said what he needed to, and he looked good while doing both. He may be ancient, but he was fine as hell. Octavius looked like he was a frat boy on spring break, Emiliano looked like he was roadkill, and his nephew, well, at least he was wearing Chanel. Still, for two princes and their trusted, future consultant, they were: “Rubbish. Absolute trash. Sebastian was never one to be quiet about his opinion. “Was it forgotten that as Royals, and as associates to the leading families, that their faces not only affect themselves?” He wasn’t asking anyone in particular.

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, while his sunglasses dropped and covered his eyes once more, he reached for his blood induced Mimosa and lifted it up toward a most respected Tepes princess, “Thank you, Kasania, for being the true beauty this morning.”

Kasania’s eyes hadn’t moved from the trio since they made their lesser-than-grand entrance, unfashionably late. Whether the three of them didn’t care, or were just idiots, she had her bets on both, they only added insult to injury in their unbecoming appearances. The warmth and playful island breeze of their location seemed to have inspired Octavius’ and her own fashion choices, though in very opposite ways. Octavius looked the part of a tourist, while she looked every bit the princess in a white chiffon dress that garnered the high praise from the King of Fashion beside her.

The judgemental gaze had finished its trip over the ‘Tourist’ and shifted to the last, and very much not the least, he’d remind you of that, to enter the dining room. The first thing she noticed was the cigarette in his mouth and exhaled an audible sigh, “Seeing as how you were already late, you didn’t think to perhaps take an extra few minutes to look more put together?” The question was aimed at the three of them but she couldn’t help the amusement that pulled at the corners of her mouth at how bad Milo looked, “You look like shit.” she mouthed out of sight of Dmitri’s clearly annoyed gaze. Milo chose to respond with a shrug. He was given a day off for once, of course he was going to look like shit the next morning.

“It’s more than faces that matter, Uncle.” Niklaus retorted to the sassy elder turncoat. Sebastian preferred the pretty as a picture ideals of the Artois enough to turn away his own family. Niko might be a rebel, but at least he wasn’t a blood traitor. What did the words of such a man mean anyway? Nothing… “But if they did, I think mine looks just fine.” Clearly it meant enough to inspire a salty response, though…

It did but Sebastian bit his tongue to refrain from disrupting the morning peace, or was incapable of opening his mouth. He immediately darted a glare toward his brother, Viktor. That bastard. Almost criminal with how powerful and cruel he looked, Viktor Tepes strode from the bar, holding a brandy, and with prominent steps, made his way to the podium, disregarding the three boys as he coldly passed them. With his back facing the crowd, he leaned in close to the King and whispered something inaudible to anyone else. The two men looked at each other knowingly and then Viktor proceeded to stand to the side of his brother, facing the others, composed and calm. A mysterious wind forced the doors closed, locking everyone inside. All those that couldn’t make it would be dealt with personally, later.

The unamused gaze of Dmitri lingered on the table where his youngest children and poor choice of friends sat before scanning over the rest of the room. There were vampires from all over New York City in attendance this morning. If the time and size of this particular private island had allowed, he would have called on a more expansive crowd. But for the sake of this experiment, the vampires of New York would do just fine.

A cleared throat precursored the deep booming voice of their King as he finally addressed them all.

“Good morning, I must first extend my gratitude to all of you for making time in your busy schedules to accept my humble invitation. From the way some of you look this morning I can assume the festivities last night were more than enjoyable.” Dmitri’s mouth pulled into a slight grin that did not reach his eyes, an expression Kasania was all too familiar with and knew she would hear all of his complaints later.

The King stepped around the podium and gestured to the room, ”As you all know, I ascended to the throne after successfully negotiating terms for peaceful coexistence with the humans. A change that was not won without long days and hard fights, and still faces some issues today, but has since greatly benefited our society. I am aware of the influence my family, and the other two royal families, have on the success of our children and the children of our loyalists. While no parent ever wants to see a child of theirs struggle, and definitely not in the case of an endless life, I see great potential in allowing one to learn from their failures. As such, I have gathered the blessings from the elders and current leaders of the houses to present you all with this challenge. Starting from the time you leave this island, whether it be tonight or sometime tomorrow, you will no longer reap the benefits of the luxury you were born into. Instead, you will be building your own houses as potential rulers, attracting your own followers and navigating through your failures and successes. I am not a man to ignore the achievements of another, as such, the house that hosts the most impressive achievements shall be recognized as a true household and have a place among the Royal Houses. The laws and traditions of our society have remained mostly unchanged for millennia, I was the first to enact a change, and now I extend the chance to you all. Create partnerships, teams, alliances amongst yourselves and with whomever you believe will help pave the way to success. I look forward to seeing all that you will come to accomplish. Now, please, enjoy your breakfasts and the rest of your time here. I have business I need to attend to, thank you.” The King gave a short bow to the silent room before making a brisk exit, leaving them all to digest the information. Viktor followed after.

“Waht.” Milo dropped his cigarette into a glass of water, trying to comprehend not the information that was given, but his personal dilemma. He was literally given a set of new assignments yesterday. Did they expect him to do this and that without a place to crash at?! His phone vibrated, as if someone was reading his thoughts but it was just his fuck buddy.

To: Whore

Soon after, he received another text, on his other phone, his business phone, from his father which indeed confirmed he was homeless, he still had to work for the Mob, getting a monthly allowance, and that this was his opportunity to make changes.

“Ah fuck me.”

Niklaus had been leaning back in his chair luxuriously as his father went about giving one of his token monologue-esque speeches. While he was doing a good job of giving off the air of not giving a fuck, he was very much so listening. Once King Dmitri got to the climax of his point, Niko’s back stiffened. His eyes shot wide in shock, meeting with his sister’s, giving away that in the grand scheme of things… he was just a child. A spoiled child. “Even… us? He whispered, his tone cut with the pain of the abandonment he’d always feared. Did he just get cut off? Where was he going to LIVE?!

I'm around!
Room for one more?

@AtomicNut Planted far from the edible plants, I hope! XD
@Scarescrow The herb garden would probably have a wide variety: basil, chives, mint, oregano, coriander, dill, fennel, parsley, rosemary, sage, thyme, cardamom, and garlic. I imagine they have a basic vegetable garden as well with carrots, peas, potatoes, onions, cucumbers, and tomatoes.

Lena interacting with Mary Holly @AtomicNut, Lord Northam @Themerlinhawk & Mrs. Northam @TootsiePop

Miss Lena van der Meer

Miss Lena awoke with the sun, as was usual for her. Though, to say that she woke was to say that she was sleeping in the first place, which was hardly true. Lena hadn’t slept a solid night since arriving at the manor decades ago. The spirits are far more active at night and they have always sensed her presence. Whilst Lena is on the cusp of consciousness, a weakened state, they poke and prod at her. Tugging at her hair, pulling the blankets down, sometimes the more benevolent ones tuck her in or even lay beside her. But when dawn arrives, Lena recalls nothing. The lack of sleep and eternal tiredness have become her new normal.

Having already gone about her morning routine, Miss Lena has washed, dressed, and properly made up for the day. Her long ebony locks were pulled up into a smooth bun and her fingers had just finished the task of braiding a final section to wrap around the band holding the rest of her hair up. She used a hairpin to tuck the braid securely in place and took a few moments to examine her reflection in the mirror.

Leaning towards the looking glass, judging the way her face powder was clinging to the fine lines and wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, Lena sighed. She had never been a vain woman before now. It wasn’t how she was raised and it wasn’t who she wanted to be, but… these days? She couldn’t help it. Every morning that she looked in the mirror, she could swear that she was starting to look more and more like them. Soon enough she herself would be a grey phantasm gliding up and down these halls, endlessly trapped in peculiar labyrinth that was Manor North.

There was no use dwelling on the inevitable though, not when there was work to be done. The hungry mouths of the manor would not feed themselves. Heaven forbid they feel the weight of picking up a ladle, let alone a pot or a pan. Miss Lena stood up from her simple vanity and put on a fresh apron before heading towards the kitchen. She entered it to find Mary Holly giving Lord Northam some concoction she’d brewed up. The shrew-like woman glared at Mary with a pinched gaze.

“What have I told you about using my best saucepans for your witchery?” The elder staff member scolded as she snuffed out the stove’s flames and used a cloth to lift the pot and bring it towards the wash basin. “You might know how to wash the dishes, but you can’t scrub away the evil, child.” Lena coldly poured the herbal “witches brew” as she saw it down the drain and left the pan to be cleaned before muttering under her breath. “The last thing this house needs is more evil…”

“Well, I do hope you left some of the herbs in the garden for there proper intended uses.” Lena remarked at her usual volume, more calm now. She grabbed a cloak and a basket to head outside and gather herbs for tonight’s dinner. On her way out, she bowed her head slightly towards the master of the house, “We’ll be having stew for supper tonight, Lord Alexander.” It was about as many words as any of the staff members could muster up when speaking to the newly returned heir. For the most part, they were a silent working bunch. There was plenty else to be doing rather than slacking off and sharing unnecessary niceties.

Lena wrapped the cloak more tightly around her shoulders before stepping outside and bracing against the morning chill. There was always a chill in the air on the estate grounds, but it was most noticeable at dawn and dusk. The old woman gripped her gathering basket and headed towards the herb garden. On her journey through the gardens, the sight of a pale phantom caught her eye. Lena turned to see a woman clad in a black night robe exiting the hedge maze.

That was no spirit, it was Mrs. Northam. Briefly forgetting her task, Lena watched the other woman curiously as she appeared to head towards the family crypt in a trance. “God have mercy…” Miss Lena remarked softly and shook her head before following her conscience after Josephine.

There was not much that could have prepared Lena for the sight she was to behold within the crypt. The widowed Mrs. Northam sat humming an eerie tune, clutching a rose as blood dripped from her palm down onto to the resting place of her late husband. Speak of the devil, a tall shadowy figure stood above the mourning woman. The spirit reeked of menace and ill intent and it wore a distorted version of Mortimer Northam’s face. Lena’s gut told her that he — or it — was to blame for the widow’s state. Haven’t you caused her enough pain, you whoring devil? Leave! Lena thought scathingly.

Whether it be Lena’s mental scolding, the morning rays of light creeping into the crypts entrance, or simply the surprise of being spotted, Mortimer’s spirit faded away. Miss Lena dropped her basket then and rushed to Mrs. Northam’s side. “Goodness, dear Lady Josephine, what are you doing out here? Bleeding out and wearing naught but your sleeping robe, you’re gonna catch your death! Come now, let me see your hand.” She said kindly as she knelt down with a linen cloth from her basket ready to clean off the wound.

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